May 08

A Place I Call Home But Only Half-Heartedly

"Do you think you'll ever come back?"
I wish I could say yes,
but it catches on my tongue
and trips from my lips,
clumsy and ugly.
It isn't convincing in the slightest,
especially because I choke on the weight of it.

I stutter and stop,
eyes settling on the ground in shame.
I don't know how to explain
that as much as I'd loved the pothole riddled roads,
and the blazing orange autumns,
I didn't feel as if it was ever my home.

It was an uncomfortable second skin,
a scratchy wool sweater that I outgrew too fast,
but wore anyways because of the sentimental value.
I never felt like I blended in,
like I was a snaggly strand of hair that never made it into the ponytail
or the single tooth jutting out from my dog's mouth,
I was pointed and deliberate,
but not meant to be here.

"Do you?"
You said yes
with the power and will I have to leave
and never look back.
It makes my heart stop
because it forces me
to remember the conviction I lack.